


In the Shadow of Your Heart

by I_am_lampy



Series: Open Your Eyes [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Post-Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Sexual Identity, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 15:43:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10857036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_am_lampy/pseuds/I_am_lampy
Summary: "Sometimes it feels like those two years that you were gone are still with me. It's like I never left. That darkness, Sherlock. It's stuck to me. I can't get it off.""We will, John," Sherlock whispered against his temple. "I promise, we'll scrape away at it until it's gone. I promise."





	In the Shadow of Your Heart

 

 

> **You left me in the dark. No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight in the shadow of your heart.**

"Cosmic Love" Florence + the Machine

 

* * *

After Rosie was settled, after Sherlock and John had eaten, they settled down on the couch in their underwear with a cup of tea. They both had their feet propped up on the coffee table, knees bent, sitting close enough that every time one of them moved, their arms rubbed together. After a while, it became a game of sorts. Every time one of them reached down for their cup of tea, they would sit back up and rub themselves against the other. They did it until Sherlock made John spill his tea and then they were laughing.

Sherlock put his tea down and took John's and John got up to go get something to wipe the spilt tea off of his lap when Sherlock grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him down. He landed half in Sherlock's lap and half on the couch. Sherlock slid out from under him and then pushed himself between John's knees.

There was no gentle start to their kiss. It was immediately hard and insistent, blood rushing in their ears and to their crotches. They were moaning and panting, their hands not knowing where to land and so landing everywhere scratching and gripping. It felt like coming up for air after drowning for so long.

Before John could say anything, Sherlock had John's underwear around his thighs and was taking him in hand. John reached for Sherlock but Sherlock was sliding down John's body. John saw his intention and tried to stop him but his voice wasn't working. It wasn't until Sherlock's mouth closed over the head of John's erection that John managed to force air through his vocal cords.

"Stop!" he said, sitting up, pushing his hands against Sherlock's shoulder.

The hurt look in Sherlock's eyes made John want to give in but there were things he had to say and he knew if Sherlock went down on him, he would come and then Sherlock would come and then they would collapse upstairs in bed and sleep and it would take days before John would have the courage to speak.

"I want you to, I do, but I have things that need to be said. No more secrets, remember?"

The hurt look didn't completely clear from Sherlock's eyes but he nodded his head.

 

* * *

 

_It's been three weeks since Sherlock fell from the roof of St. Bart's. Three weeks since John's whole life changed. The life John had before Sherlock is his life again, as though Sherlock never existed. The crushing loneliness. The ugly bedsit. The loss of the things he loved - being a surgeon, of course. And now he's lost Sherlock._

_Since then he's drifted through life. The only way to manage is to break his day down into clear, very achievable goals. Wake up. Take a shower. Get dressed. Have tea. Work. Go home. Eat. Clean up. Avoid drinking. Avoid looking at his gun._

_Those last two are impossible to avoid. Every day he drinks. Every day he looks at his gun._

_John is sitting at the bar in a pub near Soho. He's forgotten the name. A man sits down next to him. He's a little taller than John, a couple of inches maybe. He's got dark brown hair and eyes but pale skin. He reminds John a little of Moriarty and John shudders. He's even got those delicate features that Moriarty had – he's almost pretty. John realizes he's staring at him and that this bloke has turned around to face him._

_"I'm Gerald," he says and holds out his hand._

_"John."_

_They shake. Gerald looks roughly John's age, maybe younger, maybe older. There's a twenty year period between thirty and fifty where people just all look roughly forty to John._

_"You were looking at me like you knew me. Did I remind you of someone?"_

_"Yeah," John says and turns back to face the bar. He takes a big swallow of his lager._

_"Someone you liked?"_

_John scoffs. "Hated the fucker."_

_"Yikes," Gerald says. "And here I was about to talk you into my bed."_

_John thinks about it. How would it feel to fuck a Moriarty look alike?_

_"Only if you let me beat the shit out of you," John jokes, not looking at Gerald._

_"That can be arranged," Gerald says and puts his hand on John's thigh._

_John looks down at his hand like it's something nasty and pushes it away._

_"No thanks," he says._

_"Are you sure? I've got a nice selection of whips at home."_

_"You're serious?" John asks, turning to look at him._

_"Dead serious," Gerald says._

_"You want me to, what, whip you and then fuck you?" John asks incredulously._

_"Unless you want to be the one getting whipped and fucked," Gerald says, laughing._

_John realizes Gerald doesn't have anything to drink and offers to buy him one._

_"No, but thank you," Gerald says. "I only came over here to chat you up."_

_John finally smiles. "Why is that?"_

_"Because you're gorgeous and I want you."_

_"So you're into S &M?"_

_"No. I'm into dominance and submission."_

_John can't help the shiver that goes through him at the idea of this man who looks like Moriarty tying him up, beating him and then fucking him. The idea is brilliant. It's perfect. It's penance – the thing John has been looking for all this time. If it wasn't so fucked up, John would've attributed it to divine providence. He'll let Moriarty hurt him just like he hurt Sherlock and then, maybe, all of this guilt and rage will dissolve._

_"Come home with me," Gerald says._

_John can't believe he's thinking about this. It's horrifying. He looks at Gerald. To his surprise, Gerald smiles – no, he doesn't just smile – he_ beams _like John is just the greatest fucking thing he's ever seen._

_"Let's go," Gerald says. He stands up, throws some cash on the bar, grabs John's hand._

_"I didn't say I wanted to go home with you," John says, letting Gerald lead him anyway._

_"You didn't have to," Gerald says._

_In the cab on the way to Gerald's, John is so nervous, his hands are shaking. His whole body, he realizes, is shaking._

_"Relax," Gerald says, smoothing his hand up and down John's leg. He takes each of John's hands and rubs them between his and murmurs, "Relax."_

_Gerald's flat is near Soho, which means he must be extremely wealthy. A set of stairs to the first floor is right in front of the door when they walk in. To the left there's a fireplace at one end of the narrow living room with two chairs on a rug and a desk and chair at the other end. The outside wall is all windows. On the other side of the stairs is a kitchen and a small dining room._

_Gerald asks John if he wants something to drink before they go up and John says no. Gerald takes his hand and leads him upstairs. John's so nervous, he thinks he might shake right out of his skin._

_There's a narrow hallway upstairs and three doors, two on one side. Gerald stops and turns to John._

_"Have you ever done this before?" Gerald asks._

_"No," John says._

_"Let's go over a few things, then."_

_He opens the door immediately to the right into a large bathroom. There's a cupboard with shutters to the right of the sink. A toilet. A large bathtub. And then a door that leads into the room next to it, presumably._

_"In this basket, there's an assortment of individually wrapped toiletries. Before we start, you'll come in here, take off all your clothes, fold them neatly and put them in this basket and then you'll use the enema. When you're done with that, you'll get in the shower, wash your hair, clean yourself well and brush your teeth. Throw everything in that bin there once you're done with it. Then you'll go through this door and you'll kneel on the mark, sit back on your heels with your hands in your lap and your head lowered."_

_John's eyes are wide and he's burning with embarrassment. "An enema? Why an enema?"_

_"You're handing your body over to me and some people also lose control of their bodily functions."_

_"That's disgusting."_

_"Now you know why I request all my clients use an enema," Gerald says, smiling warmly. "Are you still interested?"_

_"What if I don't like what you do to me?" John asks, embarrassed to hear his voice break._

_"We work all that out before you even walk into this bathroom, John," Gerald says and smooths a hand over John's cheek._

_"Is it just hitting or do we actually have sex?"_

_"That's entirely up to you," Gerald says in that same warm voice._

_He leans in and kisses John softly on the lips. This is John's favorite thing in the world when it comes to sex – that first touch of his lips on someone else's, right before desire stirs and stretches deep in his belly. When he tries to deepen the kiss, Gerald pulls back._

_"Let's talk about what we're going to do," he says and goes back downstairs. John follows him._

_In the living room, Gerald sits down in one armchair and John sits down in the other. Gerald pulls out a binder. Inside are pictures of gags and whips and restraints. John knows as soon as he sees it what he's going to pick. He points at it._

_"The riding crop?" Gerald asks. John nods. "That's a good choice for a beginner."_

_They discuss things like restraints, blindfolds, gags and John picks the things he wants – gentle restraints, hands only, no blindfold, no gag. When Gerald asks, John tells him which parts of his body he does and doesn't want hit – John says the back of his body only, nothing above his waist or below his knees, although he's not sure why he chooses this. Gerald asks John to pick a word or phrase that he can use to make Gerald stop whatever he's doing immediately. John chooses the first thing that comes to his mind, which is 'blue buttons.' Gerald laughs like it's the most delightful thing he's ever heard._

_They talk about what things Gerald can and cannot say to John during the beating. John says he doesn't want to be humiliated. Gerald asks if John trusts him to say what he thinks John needs to hear and John says yes, although he's not sure why. It's true, though. He does trust Gerald – at least in this – even though he's only known him a couple of hours._

_Gerald asks if they'll have sex and John says yes. Gerald asks if he can kiss John and John says yes. They don't discuss who will top or who will bottom and John thinks that Gerald probably already knows exactly what John wants. Gerald is a male Irene Adler, John realizes, which brings up another point._

_"Do I have to pay you for this?" he asks._

_"No, you're just for fun," Gerald says, grinning. He stands up and walks over to John._

_"Will I have to pay if I want to come back?" John asks, looking up at him._

_"You," Gerald says and gets down on his knees between John's legs. He slides his hands up John's thighs. "You are my dessert."_

_"What did you have for supper, then?" John asks, amused and aroused._

_"Ugh," Gerald says, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. "A terrible, fat man who likes to be called kitty."_

_"Seriously?" John blurts out, laughing._

_"Well, I give them what they want."_

_"Do you have sex with them?"_

_"No," Gerald says, shaking his head. He reaches for the waistband of John's jeans and unbuttons and unzips them. "That's why you're my dessert. I don't fuck any of my clients. That's a hard limit with me."_

_This makes John feel ridiculously pleased with himself, as though he's earned some kind of privilege. Gerald's hands are stroking him through his underwear and John's getting hard. Gerald feels it immediately and bends forward and nuzzles his nose and mouth against John's crotch. When he pulls back, he looks up at John._

_"I cannot wait to see you fly apart," Gerald murmurs. "You'll be gorgeous."_

_John laughs nervously_

_"Before we begin, though," Gerald says, "I want to have a taste of you."_

_John breathes out roughly and he lifts his hips and let's Gerald pull his jeans and underwear down to his calves. John's hands grip the armrests as he watches Gerald before leaning his head back against the chair._

_"Tell me when you're going to come," Gerald says. "I don't swallow until you've been tested."_

_"Okay," John says, nodding his head._

_Gerald sucks him off and it doesn't take him long to get John to the edge of orgasm. He pushes against Gerald's shoulders and is ready to take himself in hand when he feels Gerald's hand replace his mouth, stroking him, but all of a sudden John can't look at him, he can't imagine having an orgasm with this man's eyes on him – this man who reminds him of Moriarty except that Gerald looks sane and normal, or as normal as a man can get who beats people for a living._

_"John," Gerald says softly, "Let it go. I want to hear you come."_

_But John can't come and suddenly he's pushing to his feet, shoving past Gerald who falls back on his arse and John is buttoning his jeans and zipping them up as he's flying out the front door, out onto the sidewalk, his chest heaving. He runs for a few blocks, heart pounding before he slows to a walk and then finally hails a cab and goes back to his bedsit._

_Once he's there, he gets his gun out and sets it on the bed beside him. He checks to make sure it's loaded, even though he knows it is. He makes sure the magazine is full, even though he knows it is. He clicks off the safety and then he puts it on the bed next to him. He puts his head in his hands and he cries, not too loudly, though, because the walls of this horrible, featureless room are thin. So he muffles his cries and he asks himself the same question he's asked himself every night for the past three weeks – is he ready to die yet?_

_The answer is no because the truth is John is still holding out hope – hope that Sherlock might come back after all. It's possible because it's Sherlock bloody Holmes who does the impossible ('highly improbable' the Sherlock in his head tells him) all the time._

_So John turns the safety back on and puts the gun into its plastic case and locks it and puts it in the bottom drawer of his three drawer dresser. He lays down on his bed and he stares at the ceiling and tries not to fall asleep. When he sleeps, he has nightmares of Sherlock falling from St. Bart's, of John running to save him and never getting there in time. Someone is always in his way, pushing him back saying_ No, John, let him go, he doesn't need you right now, he doesn't need you anymore _and John always trying to push them out of the way, trying to get by them, screaming Sherlock's name believing still that if he just says his name enough times then, like a genie, he will miraculously conjure Sherlock, bring him back from the dead._

_The mundane horror of his life when he came back from Afghanistan is nothing compared to the creeping dark horror of life after Sherlock's death. The only reason John doesn't kill himself is because he still believes it's possible that Sherlock's death was just another part of the game. He still believes it._

_It gets harder to believe every day, though._

* * *

 

In the bed that John used to share with Mary, in the flat they rented in Harrow, down the hall from their sleeping daughter, John clung to Sherlock, his body spent with weeping.

"That's not all of it," he whispered against Sherlock's neck. "There's more, so much more."

"I know. Me, too," Sherlock said and kissed his cheek, John's tears clinging to his lips, tasting salty when he licked them.

"Sometimes it feels like those two years that you were gone are still with me. It's like I never left. That darkness, Sherlock. It's stuck to me. I can't get it off."

"We will, John," Sherlock whispered against his temple. "I promise, we'll scrape away at it until it's gone. I promise."

They lay there quietly, not speaking, but their bodies were touching as much as possible. After a while, they slept.

**Author's Note:**

> I always welcome emails from readers about anything that tickles your fancy, even if it's just randomness!
> 
> archiveofMYown@gmail.com  
> Teddy


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